“Well, Gypsy Breynton, you’ve done it now! Now I suppose you must go directly home, and you’ll catch cold before you can get there. This is a pretty fix!”
“N—no,” gasped Gypsy, rubbing the water out of her eyes; “I have dry clothes up in the tent. Mother said I should want them. I guess I’ll go right up. I’m—rather—wet, I believe.”
Tom looked at his watch, as Gypsy toiled dripping up the bank. The temptation was too great to be resisted, and he called out,—
“Precisely half an hour! Gypsy, my dear, I’d stay all long, as the boys do, by all means!” It was a very good thing about Gypsy, that she was quite able to relish a joke at her own expense. She laughed as merrily as Tom did, and the morning’s adventure made quite as much fun as they would have gained from a string of perfectly respectable fishes, properly and scientifically caught, with dry feet and a warm seat on the bank under a glaring sun. Mr. Hallam and Tom brought up plenty for dinner; so no one went hungry.
That afternoon, it chanced that the girls were left alone for about one hour. Mr. Hallam had taken Tom some distance up the stream for a comfortable little fish by themselves, and left the girls to prepare supper, with strict injunctions not to go out of sight of the tents.
They were very well content with the arrangement for a while, but at last Gypsy became tired of having nothing but the trees to look at, and suggested a visit to the brook. She had seen some checker-berry leaves growing in the gorge, and was seized with a fancy to have them for supper. Sarah, as usual, made no objections, and they went.
“It’s only just out of sight of the tent,” said Gypsy, as they ran down over the loose stones; “and we won’t be gone but a minute.”
But they were gone many minutes. They had little idea how long the time had been, and were surprised to find it growing rapidly dark in the forest when they came panting back to the tent, out of breath with the haste they had made.
“They must be back by this time,” said Gypsy; “Tom!”
There was no answer.